THE STRANGER AGAIN.
On a burning day at the end of June, Lord Hartledon was walking towards
the Temple. He had not yet sought out his friend Thomas Carr; a sense of
shame held him back; but he was on his way to do so now.
Turning down Essex Street and so to the left, he traversed the courts
and windings, and mounted the stairs to the barrister's rooms. Many a
merry hour had he passed in those three small rooms, dignified with the
name of "Mr. Carr's chambers," but which were in fact also Mr. Carr's
dwelling-place--and some sad ones.
Lord Hartledon knocked at the outer door with his stick--a somewhat
faint, doubtful knock; not with the free hand of one at ease with himself
and the world. For one thing, he was uncertain as to the reception he
should meet with.
Mr. Carr came to the door himself; his clerk was out. When he saw who was
his visitor he stood in comic surprise. Val stepped in, extending his
hand; and it was heartily taken.
"You are not offended with me, then, Carr?"
"Nay," said Mr. Carr, "I have no reason to be offended. Your sin was not
against me."
"That's a strong word, 'sin.'"
"It is spoken," was the answer; "but I need not speak it again. I don't
intend to quarrel with you. I was not, I repeat, the injured party."
"Yet you took yourself off in dudgeon, as though you were, leaving me
without a groomsman."
"I would not remain to witness a marriage that--that you ought not to
have entered upon."
"Well, it's done and over, and need not be brought up again," returned
Hartledon, a shade of annoyance in his tones.
"Certainly not. I have no wish or right to bring it up. How is Lady
Hartledon?"
"She is very well. And now what has kept you away, Carr? We have been in
London nearly a fortnight, and you've never been near me. I thought you
_were_ going to quarrel."
"I did not know you had returned."
"Not know it! Why all the newspapers had it in amongst the 'fashionable
intelligence.'"
"I have more to do with my time than to look at the fashionable portion
of the papers. Not being fashionable myself, it doesn't interest me."
"Yes, it's about a fortnight since we came back to this hateful place,"
returned Hartledon, his light tone subsiding into seriousness. "I am out
of conceit with England just now; and would far rather have gone to the
Antipodes."
"Then why did you come back to it?" inquired the barrister, in surprise.
"My wife gave me no choice. She possesses a will of her own. It is the
ordinary thing, perhaps, for wives to do so."
"Some do, and some don't," observed Thomas Carr, who never flattered at
the expense of truth. "Are you going down to Hartledon?"
"Hartledon!" with a perceptible shiver. "In the mind I am in, I shall
never visit Hartledon again; there are some in its vicinity I would
rather not insult by my presence. Why do you bring up disagreeable
subjects?"
"You will have to get over that feeling," observed Mr. Carr, disregarding
the hint, and taking out his probing-knife. "And the sooner it is got
over the better for all parties. You cannot become an exile from your own
place. Are they at Calne now?"
"Yes. They were in Paris just before we left it, and there was an
encounter at Versailles. I wished myself dead; I declare I did. A day or
two after we came to England they crossed over, and went straight down to
Calne. There--don't say any more."
"The longer you keep away from Hartledon the greater effort it will cost
you to go down to it; and--"
"I won't go to Hartledon," he interrupted, in a sort of fury; "neither
perhaps would you, in my place."
"Sir," cried Mr. Carr's clerk, bustling in and addressing his master,
"you are waited for at the chambers of Serjeant Gale. The consultation is
on."
Lord Hartledon rose.
"I will not detain you, Carr; business must be attended to. Will you come
and dine with us this evening? Only me and my wife. Here's where we are
staying--Piccadilly. My own house is let, you know."
"I have no engagement, and will come with pleasure," said Mr. Carr,
taking the card. "What hour?"
"Ah, that's just what I can't tell you. Lady Hartledon orders dinner to
suit her engagements--any time between six and nine! I never know. We are
a fashionable couple, don't you see?"
"Stay, though, Hartledon; I forget. I have a business appointment for
half-past eight. Perhaps I can put it off."
"Come up at six. You'll be all right, then, in any case."
Lord Hartledon left the Temple, and sauntered towards home. He had
no engagement on hand--nothing to kill time. He and his wife were
falling naturally into the way of--as he had just cynically styled
it--fashionable people. She went her way and he went his.
Many a cabman held up his hand or his whip; but in his present mood
walking was agreeable to him: why should he hurry home, when he had
nothing on earth to do there? So he stared here, and gazed there, and
stopped to speak to this acquaintance, and walked a few steps with that,
went into his club for ten minutes, and arrived home at last.
His wife's carriage was at the door waiting for her. She was bound on an
expedition to Chiswick: Lord Hartledon had declined it. He met her
hastening out as he entered, and she was looking very cross.
"How late you are going, Maude!"
"Yes, there has been a mistake," she said peevishly, turning in with him
to a small room they used as a breakfast-room. "I have been waiting all
this time for Lady Langton, and she, I find, has been waiting for me. I'm
now going round to take her up. Oh, I have secured that opera-box, Val,
but at an extravagant price, considering the little time that remains of
the season."
"What opera-box?"
"Didn't I tell you? It's one I heard of yesterday. I was not going again
to put up with the wretched little box they palmed you off with. I did
tell you that."
"It was the only one I could get, Maude: there was no other choice."
"Yes, I know. Well, I have secured another for the rest of the season,
and you must not talk about extravagance, please."
"Very well," said Val, with a smile. "For what hour have you ordered
dinner?"
"Nine o'clock."
"Nine o'clock! That's awkward--and late."
"Why awkward? You may have to wait for me even then. It is impossible to
say when we shall get home from Chiswick. All the world will be there."
"I have just asked Carr to dine with us, and told him to come at six. I
don't fancy these hard-working men care to wait so long for their dinner.
And he has an appointment for half-past eight."
The colour came flushing into Lady Hartledon's face, an angry light into
her eyes.
"You have asked Carr to dinner! How dared you?"
Val looked up in quiet amazement.
"Dared!"
"Well--yes. Dared!"
"I do not understand you, Maude. I suppose I may exercise the right of
inviting a friend to dinner."
"Not when it is objectionable to me. I dislike that man Carr, and will
not receive him."
"You can have no grounds for disliking him," returned Lord Hartledon
warmly. "He has been a good and true friend to me ever since I knew what
friendship meant; and he is a good and true man."
"Too much of a friend," she sarcastically retorted. "You don't need him
now, and can drop him."
"Maude," said Lord Hartledon, very quietly, "I have fancied several times
lately that you are a little mistaking me. I am not to have a will of my
own; I am to bend in all things to yours; you are to be mistress and
master, I a nonentity: is it not so? This is a mistake. No woman ever had
a better or more indulgent husband than you shall find in me: but in all
necessary things, where it is needful and expedient that I should
exercise my own judgment, and act as master, I shall do it."
She paused in very astonishment: the tone was so calmly decisive.
"My dear, let us have no more of this; something must have vexed you
to-day."
"We will have no more of it," she passionately retorted; "and I'll have
no more of your Thomas Carrs. It is not right that you should bring a man
here who has deliberately insulted me. Be quiet, Lord Hartledon; he has.
What else was it but an insult--his going out of the chapel in the manner
he did, when we were before the altar? It was a direct intimation that he
did not countenance the marriage. He would have preferred, I suppose,
that you should marry your country sweetheart, Anne Ashton."
A hot flush rose to Lord Hartledon's brow, but his tone was strangely
temperate. "I have already warned you, Maude, that we shall do well to
discard that name from our discussions, and if possible from our
thoughts; it may prove better for both of us."
"Better for you, perhaps; but you are _not_ going to exercise any control
over my will, or words, or action; and so I tell you at once. I'm quite
old enough to be out of leading-strings, and I'll be mistress in my own
house. You will do well to send a note to your amiable friend Carr; it
may save him a useless journey; for at my table he shall not sit. Now you
know, Val."
She spoke impatiently, haughtily, and swept out to her carriage. Val did
not follow to place her in; he positively did not, but left her to the
servants. Never in his whole life perhaps had he felt so nettled, never
so resolute: the once vacillating, easily-persuaded man, when face to
face with people, was speedily finding the will he had only exercised
behind their backs. He rang the bell for Hedges.
"Her ladyship has ordered dinner for nine o'clock," he said, when the
butler appeared.
"I believe so, my lord."
"It will be inconvenient to me to wait so long to-day. I shall dine at
seven. You can serve it in this room, leaving the dining-room for Lady
Hartledon. Mr. Carr dines with me."
So Hedges gave the necessary orders, and dinner was laid in the
breakfast-room. Thomas Carr came in, bringing the news that he had
succeeded in putting off his appointment. Lord Hartledon received him in
the same room, fearing possibly the drawing-room might be invaded by his
wife. She was just as likely to be home early from Chiswick as late.
"We have it to ourselves, Carr, and I am not sorry. There was no
certainty about my wife's return, so I thought we'd dine alone."
They very much enjoyed their tête-à-tête dinner; as they had enjoyed many
a one in Hartledon's bachelor days. Thomas Carr--one of the quiet, good
men in a fast world--was an admirable companion, full of intelligence and
conversation. Hedges left them alone after the cloth was removed, but in
a very few minutes returned; his step rather more subdued than usual, as
if he came upon some secret mission.
"Here's that stranger come again, sir," he began, in low tones; and it
may as well be remarked that in moments of forgetfulness he often did
address his master as he used to address him in the past. "He asked if--"
"What stranger?" rather testily interposed Lord Hartledon. "I am at
dinner, and can't see any stranger now. What are you thinking about,
Hedges?"
"It is what I said," returned Hedges; "but he would not take the answer.
He said he had come a long way to see your lordship, and he would see
you; his business was very important. My lady asked him--"
"Has Lady Hartledon returned?"
"She came in now, my lord, while I was denying you to him. Her ladyship
heard him say he would see you, and she inquired what his business was;
but he did not tell her. It was private business, he remarked, and could
only be entered into with your lordship."
"Who is it, Hedges? Do you know him?"
Lord Hartledon had dropped his voice to confidential tones. Hedges was
faithful, and had been privy to some of his embarrassments in the old
days. The man looked at the barrister, and seemed to hesitate.
"Speak out. You can say anything before Mr. Carr."
"I don't know him," answered Hedges. "It is the gentleman who came to
Hartledon the week after your lordship's marriage, asking five hundred
questions, and wanting--"
"He, is it?" interrupted Val. "You told me about him when I came home,
I remember. Go on, Hedges."
"That's all, my lord. Except that he is here now"--and Hedges nodded his
head towards the room-door. "He seems very inquisitive. When my lady went
upstairs, he asked whether that was the countess, and followed her to the
foot of the stairs to look after her. I never saw any gentleman stare
so."
Val played with his wine-glass, and pondered. "I don't believe I owe a
shilling in the world," quoth he--betraying the bent of his thoughts, and
speaking to no one in particular. "I have squared-up every debt, as far
as I know."
"He does not look like a creditor," observed Hedges, with a fatherly air.
"Quite superior to that: more like a parson. It's his manner that makes
one doubt. There was a mystery about it at Hartledon that I didn't like;
and he refused to give his name. His insisting on seeing your lordship
now, at dinner or not at dinner, is odd too; his voice is quiet, just as
if he possessed the right to do this. I didn't know what to do, and
as I say, he's in the hall."
"Show him in somewhere, Hedges. Lady Hartledon is in the drawing-room, I
suppose: let him go into the dining-room."
"Her ladyship's dinner is being laid there, my lord," dissented the
cautious retainer. "She said it was to be served as soon as it was ready,
having come home earlier than she expected."
"Deuce take it!" testily responded Val, "one can't swing a cat in these
cramped hired houses. Show him into my smoking-den upstairs."
"Let me go there," said Mr. Carr, "and you can see him in this room."
"No; keep to your wine, Carr. Take him up there, Hedges."
The butler retired, and Lord Hartledon turned to his guest. "Carr, can
you give a guess at the fellow's business?"
"It's nothing to trouble you. If you have overlooked any old debt, you
are able to give a cheque for it. But I should rather suspect your
persevering friend to be some clergyman or missionary, bent on drawing
a good subscription from you."
Val did not raise his eyes. He was playing again with his empty
wine-glass, his face grave and perplexed.
"Do they serve writs in these cases?" he suddenly asked.
Mr. Carr laughed. "Is the time so long gone by that you have forgotten
yours? You have had some in your day."
"I am not thinking of debt, Carr: that is over for me. But there's no
denying that I behaved disgracefully to--you know--and Dr. Ashton has
good reason to be incensed. Can he be bringing an action against me, and
is this visit in any way connected with it?"
"Nonsense," said Mr. Carr.
"Is it nonsense! I'm sure I've heard of their dressing-up these
serving-officers as clergymen, to entrap the unwary. Well, call it
nonsense, if you like. What of my suggestion in regard to Dr. Ashton?"
Thomas Carr paused to consider. That it was most improbable in all
respects, he felt sure; next door to impossible.
"The doctor is too respectable a man to do anything of the sort," he
answered. "He is high-minded, honourable, wealthy: there's no inducement
whatever. _No._"
"Yes, there may be one: that of punishing me by bringing my disgrace
before the world."
"You forget that he would bring his daughter's name before it at the same
time. It is quite out of the range of possibility. The Ashtons are not
people to seek legal reparation for injury of this sort. But that your
fears are blinding you, you would never suspect them of being capable of
it."
"The stranger is upstairs, my lord," interrupted Hedges, coming back to
the room. "I asked him what name, and he said your lordship would know
him when you saw him, and there was no need to give it."
Lord Hartledon went upstairs, marshalled by the butler. Hedges was
resenting the mystery; very much on his master's account, a little on his
own, for it cannot be denied that he was given to curiosity. He threw
open the door of the little smoking-den, and in his loftiest, loudest,
most uncompromising voice, announced:
"The gentleman, my lord."
Then retired, and shut them in.
Thomas Carr remained alone. He was not fond of wine, and did not
help himself during his host's absence. Five minutes, ten minutes,
half-an-hour, an hour; and still he was alone. At the end of the first
half-hour he began to think Val a long time; at the end of the hour he
feared something must have happened. Could he be quarrelling with the
mysterious stranger? Could he have forgotten him and gone out? Could
he--
The door softly opened, and Lord Hartledon came in. Was it Lord
Hartledon? Thomas Carr rose from his chair in amazement and dread. It was
like him, but with some awful terror upon him. His face was of an ashy
whiteness; the veins of his brow stood out; his dry lips were drawn.
"Good Heavens, Hartledon!" uttered Thomas Carr. "What is it? You look as
if you had been accused of murder."
"I have been accused of it," gasped the unhappy man, "of worse than
murder. Ay, and I have done it."
The words called up a strange confusion of ideas in the mind of Thomas
Carr. Worse than murder!
"What is it?" cried he, aloud. "I am beginning to dream."
"Will you stand by me?" rejoined Hartledon, his voice seeming to have
changed into something curiously hollow. "I have asked you before for
trifles; I ask you now in the extremity of need. Will you stand by me,
and aid me with your advice?"
"Y--es," answered Mr. Carr, his excessive astonishment causing a
hesitation. "Where is your visitor?"
"Upstairs. He holds a fearful secret, and has me in his power. Do you
come back with me, and combat with him against its betrayal."
"A fearful secret!" was Thomas Carr's exclamation. "What brings you with
one?"
Lord Hartledon only groaned. "You will stand by me, Carr? Will you come
upstairs and do what you can for me?"
"I am quite ready," replied Thomas Carr, quickly. "I will stand by you
now, as ever. But--I seem to be in a maze. Is it a true charge?"
"Yes, in so far as that--But I had better tell you the story," he broke
off, wiping his brow. "I must tell it you before you go upstairs."
He linked his arm within his friend's, and drew him to the window. It
was broad daylight still, but gloomy there: the window had the pleasure
of reposing under the leads, and was gloomy at noon. Lord Hartledon
hesitated still. "Elster's folly!" were the words mechanically floating
in the mind of Thomas Carr.
"It is an awful story, Carr; bad and wicked."
"Let me hear it at once," replied Thomas Carr.
"I am in danger of--of--in short, that person upstairs could have me
apprehended to-night. I would not tell you but that I must do so. I must
have advice, assistance; but you'll start from me when you hear it."
"I will stand by you, whatever it may be. If a man has ever need of a
friend, it must be in his extremity."
Lord Hartledon stood, and whispered a strange tale. It was anything but
coherent to the clear-minded barrister; nevertheless, as he gathered one
or two of its points he did start back, as Hartledon had foretold, and an
exclamation of dismay burst from his lips.
"And you could _marry_--with this hanging over your head!"
"Carr--"
The butler came in with an interruption.
"My lady wishes to know whether your lordship is going out with her
to-night."
"Not to-night," answered Lord Hartledon, pointing to the door for the man
to make his exit. "It is of her I think, not of myself," he murmured to
Mr. Carr.
"And he"--the barrister pointed above to indicate the
stranger--"threatens to have you apprehended on the charge?"
"I hardly know what he threatens. _You_ must deal with him, Carr;
I cannot. Let us go; we are wasting time."
As they left the room to go upstairs Lady Hartledon came out of the
dining-room and crossed their path. She was deeply mortified at her
husband's bringing Mr. Carr to the house after what she had said; and
most probably came out at the moment to confront them with her haughty
and disapproving face. However that might have been, all other emotions
gave place to surprise, when she saw _their_ faces, each bearing a livid
look of fear.
"I hope you are well, Lady Hartledon," said Mr. Carr.
She would not see the offered hand, but swept onwards with a cold
curtsey, stopping just a moment to speak to her husband.
"You are not going out with me, Lord Hartledon?"
"I cannot to-night, Maude. Business detains me."
She passed up the stairs, vouchsafing no other word. They lingered a
minute to let her get into the drawing-room.
"Poor Maude! What will become of her if this is brought home to me?"
"And if it is not brought home to you--the fact remains the same," said
Mr. Carr, in his merciless truth.
"And our children, our children!" groaned Hartledon, a hot flush of dread
arising in his white face.
They shut themselves in with the stranger, and the conference was
renewed. Presently lights were rung for; Hedges brought them himself,
but gained nothing by the movement; for Mr. Carr heard him coming, rose
unbidden, and took them from him at the door.
Lady Hartledon's curiosity was excited. It had been aroused a little by
the stranger himself; secondly by their scared faces; thirdly by this
close conference.
"Who is that strange gentleman, Hedges?" she asked, from the
drawing-room, as the butler descended.
"I don't know, my lady."
"What is his name?"
"I have not heard it, my lady."
"He looks like a clergyman."
"He does, my lady."
Apparently Hedges was impenetrable, and she allowed him to go down. Her
curiosity was very much excited; it may be said, uneasily excited; there
is no accounting for these instincts that come over us, shadowing forth
a vague sense of dread. Although engaged out that night to more than one
place, Lady Hartledon lingered on in the drawing-room.
They came out of the room at last and passed the drawing-room door. She
pushed it to, only peeping out when they had gone by. There was nothing
to hear; they were talking of ordinary matters. The stranger, in his
strong Scotch accent, remarked what a hot day it had been. In travelling,
no doubt very, responded Mr. Carr. Lady Hartledon condescended to
cautiously put her head over the balustrades. There was no bell rung;
Lord Hartledon showed his visitor out himself.
"And now for these criminal law books, Carr, that bear upon the case," he
said, returning from the front-door.
"I must go down to my chambers for them."
"I know they can't bring it home to me; I know they can't!" he exclaimed,
in tones so painfully eager as to prove to Lady Hartledon's ears that he
thought they could, whatever the matter might be. "I'll go with you,
Carr; this uncertainty is killing me."
"There's little uncertainty about it, I fear," was the grave reply. "You
had better look the worst in the face."
They went out, intending to hail the first cab. Very much to Lord
Hartledon's surprise he saw his wife's carriage waiting at the door, the
impatient horses chafing at their delay. What could have detained her?
"Wait for me one moment, Carr," he said. "Stop a cab if you see one."
He dashed up to the drawing-room; his wife was coming forth then, her
cloak and gloves on, her fan in her hand. "Maude, my darling," he
exclaimed, "what has kept you? Surely you have not waited for me?--you
did not misunderstand me?"
"I hardly know what has kept me," she evasively answered. "It is late,
but I'm going now."
It never occurred to Lord Hartledon that she had been watching or
listening. Incapable of any meanness of the sort, he could not suspect it
in another. Lady Hartledon's fertile brain had been suggesting a solution
of this mystery. It was rather curious, perhaps, that her suspicions
should take the same bent that her husband's did at first--that of
instituting law proceedings by Dr. Ashton.
She said nothing. Her husband led her out, placed her in the carriage,
and saw it drive away. Then he and the barrister got into a cab and went
to the Temple.
"We'll take the books home with us, Carr," he said, feverishly. "You
often have fellows dropping in to your chambers at night; at my house we
shall be secure from interruption."
It was midnight when Lady Hartledon returned home. She asked after her
husband, and heard that he was in the breakfast-room with Mr. Carr.
She went towards it with a stealthy step, and opened the door very
softly. Had Lord Hartledon not been talking, they might, however, have
heard her. The table was strewed with thick musty folios; but they
appeared to be done with, and Mr. Carr was leaning back in his chair with
folded arms.
"I have had nothing but worry all my life," Val was saying; "but compared
with this, whatever has gone before was as nothing. When I think of
Maude, I feel as if I should go mad."
"You must quietly separate from her," said Mr. Carr.
A slight movement. Mr. Carr stopped, and Lord Hartledon looked round.
Lady Hartledon was close behind him.
"Percival, what is the matter?" she asked, turning her back on Mr. Carr,
as if ignoring his presence. "What bad news did that parson bring you?--a
friend, I presume, of Dr. Ashton's."
They had both risen. Lord Hartledon glanced at Mr. Carr, the perspiration
breaking out on his brow. "It--it was not a parson," he said, in his
innate adherence to truth.
"I ask _you_, Lord Hartledon," she resumed, having noted the silent
appeal to Mr. Carr. "It requires no third person to step between man and
wife. Will you come upstairs with me?"
Words and manner were too pointed, and Mr. Carr hastily stacked the
books, and carried them to a side-table.
"Allow these to remain here until to-morrow," he said to Lord Hartledon;
"I'll send my clerk for them. I'm off now; it's later than I thought.
Good-night, Lady Hartledon."
He went out unmolested; Lady Hartledon did not answer him; Val nodded his
good-night.
"Are you not ashamed to face me, Lord Hartledon?" she then demanded.
"I overheard what you were saying."
"Overheard what we were saying?" he repeated, gazing at her with a scared
look.
"I heard that insidious man give you strange advice--'_you must quietly
separate from her_,' he said; meaning from me. And you listened
patiently, and did not knock him down!"
"Maude! Maude! was that all you heard?"
"_All!_ I should think it was enough."
"Yes, but--" He broke off, so agitated as scarcely to know what he was
saying. Rallying himself somewhat, he laid his hand upon the white cloak
covering her shoulders.
"Do not judge him harshly, Maude. Indeed he is a true friend to you and
to me. And I have need of one just now."
"A true friend!--to advise that! I never heard of anything so monstrous.
You must be out of your mind."
"No, I am not, Maude. Should--disgrace"--he seemed to hesitate for a
word--"fall upon me, it must touch you as connected with me. I _know_,
Maude, that he was thinking of your best and truest interests."
"But to talk of separating husband and wife!"
"Yes--well--I suppose he spoke strongly in the heat of the moment."
There was a pause. Lord Hartledon had his hand still on his wife's
shoulder, but his eyes were bent on the table near which they stood. She
was waiting for him to speak.
"Won't you tell me what has happened?"
"I can't tell you, Maude, to-night," he answered, great drops coming out
again on his brow at the question, and knowing all the time that he
should never tell her. "I--I must learn more first."
"You spoke of disgrace," she observed gently, swaying her fan before her
by its silken cord. "An ugly word."
"It is. Heaven help me!"
"Val, I do think you are the greatest simpleton under the skies!" she
exclaimed out of all patience, and flinging his hand off. "It's time you
got rid of this foolish sensitiveness. I know what is the matter quite
well; and it's not so very much of a disgrace after all! Those Ashtons
are going to make you pay publicly for your folly. Let them do it."
He had opened his lips to undeceive her, but stopped in time. As a
drowning man catches at a straw, so did he catch at this suggestion in
his hopeless despair; and he suffered her to remain in it. Anything to
stave off the real, dreadful truth.
"Maude," he rejoined, "it is for your sake. If I am sensitive as to
any--any disgrace being brought home to me, I declare that I think of
you more than of myself."
"Then don't think of it. It will be fun for me, rather than anything
else. I did not imagine the Ashtons would have done it, though. I wonder
what damages they'll go in for. Oh, Val, I should like to see you in the
witness-box!"
He did not answer.
"And it was not a parson?" she continued. "I'm sure he looked as much
like one as old Ashton himself. A professional man, then, I suppose,
Val?"
"Yes, a professional man." But even that little answer was given with
some hesitation, as though it had evasion in it.
Maude broke into a laugh. "Your friend, Pleader Carr--or whatever he
calls himself--must be as thin-skinned as you are, Val, to fancy that a
rubbishing action of that sort, brought against a husband, can reflect
disgrace on the wife! Separate, indeed! Has he lived in a wood all his
life? Well, I am going upstairs."
"A moment yet, Maude! You will take a caution from me, won't you? Don't
speak of this; don't allude to it, even to me. It may be arranged yet,
you know."
"So it may," acquiesced Maude. "Let your friend Carr see the doctor, and
offer to pay the damages down."
He might have resented this speech for Dr. Ashton's sake, in a happier
moment, but resentment had been beaten out of him now. And Lady Hartledon
decided that her husband was a simpleton, for instead of going to sleep
like a reasonable man, he tossed and turned by her side until daybreak.